Forsaken
by a line of distinction
Summary: In an unexpected series of events, the Boy-Who-Lived is cast into exile by those he once trusted. A twist of fate has it so that he is avenged and payback is not at all sweet. But where do Lily and James lie within this mess? R&R and find out...
1. Introduction and Such

Forsaken  
  
Summary:  
  
As the turning of the tides approaches, demise for the Boy-Who-Lived runs rapid amongst those he trusts most and he is whisked away to an unplottable, iniquitous prison. However, in a series of somewhat questionable events, he returns to the Magical world in search of a settling of scores.  
  
Author's Note, Introduction, and such:  
  
I suppose this was the best way to write a story: to base it upon prior writing experiences and whisk my readers and myself away on an adventure almost bleeding with emotions. I've tried, in this story to unite basic concepts of irony and revenge from The Count Of Monte Cristo and unite them under the roof of the acclaimed Harry Potter series in attempt of interesting readers on the site, as well as unleash some of the writing I never knew I possessed. This is the first angst/drama fiction I've ever written, so please...let me know if anything gets a bit too out of hand. PG- 13 for language, violence, innuendo, and action/adventure, but an R rating could be implemented at a later date.  
  
I own neither The Count of Monte Cristo or the Harry Potter series' characters, plots, events, or ideas, I only use them to create a piece of literature all my own. I do hold the ideas in this fiction to be completely self-obtained and original and I would greatly appreciate the credit for writing this story.  
  
This story takes place in present-day, Hogwarts standards, of course in London, England. It is Harold James Potter's seventh and final year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and the wizarding world is on the brink of war; Voldemort with his army of Giants, Trolls, Vampires, Ogres, Dementors, and Death Eaters while Fudge's Army (though commonly referenced in this fiction as Dumbledore's army because of the irony associated with the name) is in allegiance with the Centaurs, Ministry of Magic, Goblins, Werewolves, Undercover Animagus, and a front of House Elves. All others are either neutral, on the brink of war, or carefully considering the options. The Most Ancient and Noble House of Black remains the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix.  
  
~Enjoy~  
  
-The Author 


	2. Letters and Orbs

Staring only at the blankness of the off-white ceiling overhead, Harry Potter was in a most comfortable position: lying upon his bed with his long spindly legs sprawled out and his lean arms serving as a pillow behind his head. This was the night of his eighteenth birthday, the birthday many had wagered would never come by hell or high water, but he was here and he was still very much alive while penetrating the ceiling with a fathomless half- expression on his face. He breathed in solemnly and hesitated when he turned his head towards his oak dresser as he gazed into the eyes of his snowy white owl, Hedwig. Her once brilliant white feathers were slowly graying from time and weather, but her eyes were still luminous and full as she watched a mouse scatter by Harry's bedside night table. A quiet, but meaningful screech filled Harry's ears and he looked directly at the ground at the little brown field mouse that ate at crumb droppings under the night table. Harry's eyes narrowed in suspicion and then softened a bit, and soon a slight smile played at his lips.  
  
"Ah, who says all mice have to be blundering liars in disguise?" Harry asked himself aloud in a half-mock half-lecture tone of voice. "But on the other hand, just because I'm paranoid doesn't mean they aren't after me." Harry picked up the mouse by the tail and threw him out into the hallway, which separated him from the Dursley's.  
  
"If you're lucky," he said to the mouse with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes "you'll find Dudley's stash of sweets hidden under his bed."  
  
Hedwig continued to screech; perturbed at the fact that Harry had completely misunderstood the message she was trying to send across to him, obviously. Harry, however oblivious returned to staring at the ceiling and thought aloud, as he often did these days when sneaking a glance at the Muggle T.V. stations to listen out for more "disturbing disappearances" or "unexplainable deaths". Voldemort was on the rise and it was now actually even noticeable to the Muggles, though in a roundabout unexplainable way...for some, a bit more apparent than others in the case of the Dursley household.  
  
"After tomorrow," Vernon Dursley grunted the night before during dinner "we won't have to worry a bit about those people and their ways."  
  
Dudley Dursley shook his gargantuan head in an agreeable fashion as he helped himself to fifths.  
  
Harry's Uncle Vernon had serious plans of getting Harry out of the house as soon as the clock struck midnight; he'd even bought a cake and party favors just for Harry's moving out. Harry was no more anxious to be leaving the Dursley's home this year: he'd be eighteen and could now further his Auror training and find a permanent residence in the Magical community once and for all. And everyday when Vernon Dursley banged Harry's door and screamed that day's number (yesterday was one) Harry crossed one day off his calendar and packed a belonging of his into some of Aunt Petunia's luggage bags he'd stolen during prior weeks.  
  
Everyone was feeling some sort of emotion; Dudley gave Harry a salute whenever he passed him and Petunia Dursley put on a firm, but visibly upset smirk on her face as she glanced every now and then from the roast beef casserole she'd prepared. Obviously, there was one Dursley who still doubted that an attack upon their household could be prevented, Harry or no Harry. It was the recent dinners like this that had Harry both on edge, but anxious to leave. But with the rising threat of war on both fronts, he still considered himself an outsider to every degree. He really didn't have a true place he could call home. He sometimes doubted that he ever would.  
  
At about that precise moment, an owl from Ronald Weasley flew through the window and dropped a parcel and a letter into Harry's hand. Harry sat up and offered the bird a bit of seeds to eat for the time being since he very well knew that Hedwig detested the bird about as much as she detested being cramped in her cage until her wings completely regained their strength for their next mission. Turning his direction back to the parcel, he unwrapped the orange Chuddley Cannon's paper and opened a cardboard box to find the most odd sort of contraption he'd seen yet from the Wizarding World: a sort of glowing ball with inscriptions that changed every now and then. Harry turned the ball over in his hands and put it down to open the letter Ron had sent him. He opened the letter and read:  
  
Harry-  
  
Wishing you a very Happy Birthday in light of spending it with your  
relatives, but at least you'll be able to get out of it soon enough. I  
don't have very much time to write this letter and as a matter of  
fact, I shouldn't be sending this to you as we speak, but something  
dreadful is happening, Harry, and I know it even though everyone puts  
on cheery faces and false smiles. Bill and Percy are away on active  
Order business and Mom and Dad are hardly ever home; the grand total  
of killings has rose from five to thirty-three alone in the first  
month that we've been off from break, and there's rumors that the  
guards have completely left their stations in Azkaban. By the way,  
haven't heard or seen Lupin, but maybe he's on Order business too.  
  
I know this will sound a bit parental, but please watch yourself and  
be on your guard at all times...Constant Vigilance as old Moody would  
say (or would he really say that?).  
On a happier note, Ginny says she can't wait to see you. Honestly, I  
couldn't be any happier that my best friend is dating my little  
sister, but you should hear the way she carries on about you, mate!  
Fred and George have opened a new store in Diagon Alley next to  
Gringotts, which I find mighty suspicious...with those two; a bank break-  
in would be the least of my worries.  
Hermione will be arriving by apparation this weekend (darn girl got  
her license before I did) so please hurry or I'll be stuck again  
listening to the whole Hogwarts: A History for the second time in two  
years.  
  
Stay safe,  
  
Ron  
  
P.S.- I've sent you a Fate Orb, a novelty item, really, but it's  
supposed to tell you whether good times are coming your way or if  
something wicked finds you chase. Again, a novelty item, but it's  
pretty reliable as well, It was glowing a really red color for me this  
morning and I found a black widow spider in my shoe...pretty close one  
there.  
  
Harry now looked at the Fate Orb and it remained the same pale red color it was when he first held it in his hands. Of course it'd be red, Voldemort is after you and his Death Eaters want revenge, Harry thought. He pursed his lips and began tossing the little red ball up and down from hand to hand and with incredible ease threw it over his left shoulder and let it roll down his right arm. This summer's quidditch training was a success.  
  
Convincing Uncle Vernon to let him practice quidditch during the summer months was straining and almost impossible, but it was his Aunt Petunia who softened (oddly enough) and convinced Vernon to let Harry practice at the old warehouse off of Magnolia Crescent at midnight. Ever since, Harry's agility, stamina, and coordination had improved a great deal, not to mention the wonders it had done for his lanky and scrawny figure. And this year he'd be the captain of the quidditch team.  
  
Two more owls entered the room: a wild black owl with the wingspan of almost a hawk and a much smaller dainty gray owl with a small beak. Harry took the parcels they'd dropped and opened the blue letter from the smaller bird.  
  
Dear Harry,  
  
A Happy Birthday to you, I can only hope that you indeed feel happy  
today. Only today left of your relatives, so I'm sure your spirits are  
high enough.  
I'm writing you this letter as I leave for Ron's house today and I  
can only hope to see you when I get there. I've spent the majority of  
my holiday traveling with Viktor on the Bulgarian tour season, mostly  
just to visit the many countries and not at all to spend time with  
Viktor. Should I be ashamed of that? I do, and now I regret telling  
you. But it was most splendid, viewing the sights of Rome, the  
hillsides of Scotland, and even the Great Wall of China (which was  
actually the idea of a Chinese general to keep out wizards and witches  
of neighboring countries and not the invading Huns at all).  
Crookshanks has run away in Albania somewhere, and was reluctant on  
having us find him...I knew Ron was right when he said I should have  
bought an owl.  
Congratulations on your and Ginny's dating, you two really were made  
for each other you know...not at all like Ron and I –not that I like Ron  
in that manner- oh, never mind. Stay safe and a very Happy Birthday to  
one of my dearest friends. Enjoy the sugar-free sweets and souvenirs  
I've collected for you during my trips.  
  
Love always,  
  
Hermione  
  
Harry opened the parcel and dumped out the sugar-free sweets and souvenirs (mini books about magic in nearly twenty-five different languages that translated into English whenever to picked them up to read, an assortment of quills, and miniature quidditch players that actually flew around the room and played a match). Harry smiled and opened the next letter.  
  
Harry,  
  
A Happy Birthday to you and congratulations on moving out of the  
Dursley's house today after eighteen years of pure – well, you know.  
Baked you a cake and even did the icing on my own...course Fang got into  
it a bit, but if you ignore the nose print, it's still mighty tasty.  
  
Happy Birthday  
  
Hagrid  
  
Harry decidedly put the cake on his night table and sat in wait for his Hogwarts letter from the usual medium sized light brown owl from Professor McGonagall with his supplies list and whatnot.  
  
Screech. Another owl entered the room.  
  
This was a great barn owl with brown spotted feathers and a slightly torn beak. It dropped a huge parcel and a small note into Harry's lap and flew out of the window again with speed. Harry first opened the letter, which nearly bled through the parchment with blood red ink:  
  
Harry,  
  
There is something urgent that I need to tell you before you leave the  
Dursley's today. Keep Ron's orb with you inside your pockets. Remain  
inside your home under all circumstances and whatever you do: DO NOT  
OPEN THIS PARCEL.  
  
Moony  
  
Harry's eyes opened in shock at the very bold, bleeding words towards the end of Remus' note. He'd said not to leave the house and not open the parcel he'd sent to him...but why? He'd also signed his surname instead of his actual name, which raised Harry's suspicions even higher. But what truly bothered him was that he knew that Ron had sent him an orb. Ron specifically said he'd not even heard from Remus from his parents or anyone. How did he know Ron had sent him the orb?  
  
Then it dawned upon him: Remus had given Ron the orb to give to Harry.  
  
But why not give it directly? What in the world was going on? Harry ushered the birds out of his room and unlocked Hedwig's cage that got him a look of confusion from his owl.  
  
"Just go, Hedwig. Stay at Ron's and don't come back here for me." The owl snapped playfully at his untidy mass of black hair and flew away with the other five owls through the window. Harry's smile immediately vanished off of his face and a look of terror and realization overcame him as the birds flew out the window.  
  
Why were there five birds? There'd only been four letters...  
  
Harry glanced towards the bedroom door and heard absolutely nothing but silence. Surely Uncle Vernon would be up by now to get me out of the house...and Aunt Petunia cooking breakfast...where were the sounds of Dudley's footsteps? Harry picked up the orb and placed it in his pocket and pulled out his wand from out of his pillowcase and opened the room door and stepped into the hallway.  
  
Silence.  
  
"Aunt Petunia? Uncle Vernon? Dudley?" Harry called and his voice echoed through the hall.  
  
No response.  
  
Harry put his wand at the ready and straightened his glasses. He slowly walked down the stairs and peered through the downstairs kitchen that sounded of television and the three Dursley's appeared to be deeply engrossed in the 9:00 Morning News.  
  
"– And in other news, another disappearance on the London Underground is leaving many in confusion and disbelief as thirty-five year old Damien Virchow vanished in a flash of blue light–"  
  
Harry took in a deep breath and lowered his wand. He looked at the T.V. at the latest victim of Voldemort's: a tall man with long black hair dressed entirely in black. From what Harry could tell, he had gray eyes and a very pale face from lack of sunlight and proper nutrition. A long scar trailed from the top of his skull to the bottom of his left jaw, but this was perhaps one of the only flaws on Virchow's simple, and perhaps once handsome face. Harry winced at the thought of the scar upon his own forehead and picked the orb out of his pocket and threw it up in the air again, but this time, he missed and the orb went whizzing through the air and landed atop of Uncle Vernon's head. Harry froze and his eyes squinted in anticipation for the bellows and possible attack that might be coming in the next few seconds.  
  
"– Virchow is not married and was last seen at the Lennox Café above the underground–"  
  
Vernon Dursley didn't move.  
  
The blood froze in Harry's skin and he turned a tint of icy blue as he inched closer to Uncle Vernon's head. Still, no movement was made and so Harry stuck with fear and silence turned Uncle Vernon's face towards his own and let out an ear-splitting shriek.  
  
Uncle Vernon was out cold and his skin was hard as stone, only the expression of pure shock and terror remained on his face.  
  
"– Anyone with additional information is asked to come forward to London Police–"  
  
Harry leapt back and began to shake, his body trembled and his eyes stayed transfixed on his once alive Uncle Vernon. He didn't even want to look at Dudley and Aunt Petunia...he knew already that whatever had happened to Uncle Vernon had most assuredly happened to them as well...Harry tried to speak, but couldn't. He could only look from his former family to the blood-red orb on the ground. Writing in Latin had assimilated upon its inner edges in a gold cursive writing. From what Harry knew of Latin, the ball read this:  
  
A shadow comes from in its corner Nothing ever will be the same.  
  
Harry stared quizzically at the ball's vagueness and took a step back into the arms of the tall man in black he'd just seen upon the television. 


	3. Foggy Intentions

Harry screamed and put his wand to Virchow's throat, which made the tall figure stop and swear brazenly as it overlooked Harry's much smaller physic. He was even paler than it appeared upon the television and was a great deal skinnier. His dark stringy hair let off a glistening glow from the wet morning rain from outdoors and his breath smelled of cheap liquor.  
  
"YOU KILLED THEM! YOU MURDERED MY AUNT AND-"  
  
"No, Harry, you've got it all wrong...the murderers who've just done this are- "  
  
"DON'T YOU DARE SPEAK TO ME, YOU FILTHY-"  
  
"-They've gone Harry! I got here as soon as I heard...and dammed, they're after me now!"  
  
"SHUT UP!"  
  
Virchow took a deep intake of breath as Harry forced his wand into his throat. Harry's eyes now filled with tears of anger and sadness as he attempted to kill Virchow...he'll get what he deserves...sure they were horrible people, but bloody hell, I wouldn't even wish death on Draco!  
  
"The two-way mirror."  
  
Harry froze and looked into Virchow's face. He remembered quite distinctly that Sirius had given him a two-way mirror in the case that Harry would have ever needed to contact Sirius. As far as he knew, his father and Sirius were the only two that ever knew about the mirror beside Harry, of course. "W-what did you just say?"  
  
Virchow straightened his face and took a deep breath again, as he'd been holding it ever since Harry put his wand to his throat. "Sirius gave me a two-way mirror...said that if anything ever happened to him, I owed you my life."  
  
"Don't dare speak to me about Sirius, you bloody murderer." Harry said in a deep grumble.  
  
"I swear what I'm telling you isn't a lie! Listen...if you don't get out of here in the next few seconds...if I don't get out of here in the next few seconds...oh shit!"  
  
A vibration filled the Dursley's house, all of Aunt Petuinia's china began to ring in an extremely dangerous pitch and Virchow grabbed Harry's arm and forced him down behind the couch.  
  
"They're here."  
  
"Who's here? W-what in the hell is g-going on?"  
  
"Shh! And whatever you do, don't pull out your wand...they're attracted to magic!"  
  
Harry held still as the vibrations and ringing came to an abrupt stop. There was silence in the room and then the lightest swishing noise of a cloak was heard from the kitchen and the clanging of metal on wood was heard from the upstairs bedrooms.  
  
Clink. Clank. Clink.  
  
"They're Rrynons...they're very much like dementors, but what they do to you is far worse than you can imagine," Virchow whispered in a voice a bit less than a hum. The noise from the steps moved slowly into the dining area and into the living room where a hoarse breathing could be heard and a prickle of northern wind fell into Harry's hair. Virchow saw Harry's orb and threw it across the room back into the kitchen. The Rrynon again was heard in the kitchen again and Virchow motioned for Harry to look up.  
  
The beast, or Rrynon as Virchow had called it was vaguely familiar to that of dementors; it was long and hooded, but two luminous red eyes could be seen under its cloak and it walked, not glided. Long scaly hands with bleeding calluses protruded from its sleeves and the heavy black iron- bladed boots it wore resembled that of human flesh. Hissing and grunting filled the house. Virchow pulled Harry down from view again and spoke again.  
  
"That orb," He said, pointing over to the Rrynon's direction "Is now long gone. Whoever sent you that, I'm afraid, is either very dumb or more than willing to have you taken away. Rrynons both love and detest magic, they will take the magic from an object and manipulate into weapons so dark and destructive that only the strongest sorcerers and wizards can put it under control."  
  
"Why has it come for me, though?" Asked Harry with his voice full of terror. Only moments before he'd been lying about comfortably in his bed, assuming Aunt Petunia, Uncle Vernon, and Dudley were about minding their own business and waiting happily for his Hogwarts letter...  
  
"To kill you, obviously or at least capture you...I'm not certain. But I do know this, we have to get out of here and fast...it'll only be a few moments before they scent that two wizards are in the house, and when that happens, we're as good as gone."  
  
"I can't leave," Harry suddenly said to Virchow, "I'm under orders not to leave the house."  
  
"What? You'll stay here and die because of Remus' orders?"  
  
A silence overcame the two men. Only the sounds of the Rrynons in the opposite room could be heard.  
  
"I never told you that Lupin sent me those orders," said Harry with his eyes locked on Virchow in a fathomless and questionable stance. So Virchow too knew more that Harry knew...it seemed everyone knew more than Harry knew...and the prospect of being thrown to the wolves supposedly on his own allies' orders was not only angering him slowly but also putting him in a state of shock.  
  
Virchow looked downcast at the floor. "Look...we've got to get out of here, and if you won't go with me then I must go alone...the Evans boy is in danger as well...and he can't stop what might happen to him not even if he willingly tried."  
  
"I won't go."  
  
"Suit yourself."  
  
With a pop and a mist of smoke, Virchow disappeared and Harry found himself staring into the face of the two Rrynons, consciousness slowly leaving his body and a prickling sensation running through his skin.  
  
Darkness overtook him and silence crept into his veins, cutting off even the slightest feelings of anything. 


	4. Welcome to Hell's Spit

"W-where am I?" Asked Harry in almost a comatose state. The room around him was unfamiliar, thick iron bars surrounded him and the bricks were lined with stains of blood and etched writing. There wasn't a single window.  
  
"Silence, boy!" Said one of the Rrynons from behind Harry's head that was out of his view. It picked up an iron bat and slammed it down across Harry's shoulder with such a tremendous force that Harry screamed in pain. This seemed to pleasure the Rrynon somewhat and so it kicked Harry in his gut and made him slide halfway across the room. The other Rrynon snorted in laughter and snapped on a chain that connected Harry's leg to a steel post driven in the ground. He was immediately pulled back within reach of the first Rrynon and the beast turned him over upon his back so as to face Harry and stare fathomlessly into Harry's eyes.  
  
"Albus Dumbledore gives his love."  
  
Another kick sent Harry this time ramming straight into one of the iron bars, his head colliding viciously with it and he felt the blood from his forehead trickle down slowly down his cheek and into his eyes with one of the most profound burning sensations he'd ever felt in his life. The pain in his shoulder and his head was nothing when compared to the feeling of his dislocated leg and broken left ribcage, however. He staggered to breathe and began to cough up thick amounts of blood.  
  
W-w-what is going on h-here? Dumbledore...where is...am I? Thoughts ran through Harry's head without time for comprehension or even thinking. He only could focus on the Rrynon's boot and where it would attack him from next.  
  
The first Rrynon set up for another kick but was stopped with a vicious blow to the head by the second. Their bright luminous eyes stood transfixed upon one another for a period of time where an exchange of hissing and growls were emitted from under their hoods where Harry suspected a mouth lie. Finally, the first Rrynon backed away from Harry but left its eyes glaring at the scar that lie upon Harry's forehead. The second dragged Harry up by the hair and threw him into a cell further down the hall and the last sound Harry heard was the locking of the door. A shadow of two figures loomed over him and began to lift him and put cold wet rags to his face. He then fell into deep unconsciousness.  
  
"It's 'em, ain't it, Mort?"  
  
"Aye, it's the Potter boy, Stev...never thought I'd see the day-"  
  
"He might not either by de look of 'em...bloody hell dey beat the life outta 'em, haven't dey?"  
  
"Well, we know how the guards of Hell's Spit work...they bring you in and give you a welcoming...not at all pleasant was our first beating, was it?"  
  
"Not a' all, I swear me lungs are still crushed from that welcomin'."  
  
Harry turned from side to side as his eyes fluttered to stay open. Ignoring the swirling of the room and the pungent odors of blood and bodily discharge, he tried to sit up on the damp, cold floor. A rearing pain swept from his lower back and ribcage all the way up to his temples making it almost impossible for him not to faint and throw up upon himself. His arms were badly bruised and he had whelp marks stretching from his face all the way down to his calves.  
  
He reared forward and vomited, his untidy black hair entwining with the reddish-pink discharge from his mouth. One of the men grabbed Harry by the shoulders as to help him and the other pulled back his hair from the way of his mouth. Harry eventually stopped and lie upon his back choking and coughing violently. The first man who held Harry's shoulders shook his head from side to side in pity.  
  
"There, there, you've got to stay strong in here...I spent years in here and if I'd have gone weak, they'd have been all over me by now," He pointed to the guards, the same cloaked figures Harry had seen the morning of – well, the morning of the incident.  
  
"Yeah, gotta keep yeh wits about yeh or they'll break yeh...seen it happen plenty o' times."  
  
Harry, however seemed reluctant to even speak to these men, he was assuring himself that Dumbledore knew exactly where he was and that any moment now, he'd come and rescue him. He put his face to the cell bars and screamed mercilessly.  
  
"DUMBLEDORE! GET ME OUT OF HERE, DUMBLEDORE!"  
  
"Aye lass, that's easier said than done," the man called Mort said with an impish smile. "Y'see, nobody knows about Hell's Spit except for those who already know where it is."  
  
"Unplottable by even de Ministry themselves. They say Hell's Spit is for de inmates even too strong fo' Azkaban...dey break you here till yeh're nuttin' but flesh an' hell. But by den yeh've already snuffed it up." The man called Stev responded morbidly.  
  
"Or died from madness," added Mort.  
  
"Yep, the only way outta Hell's Spit is through dat dere box," Stev said pointing to a small black casket with a lock on it.  
  
"Then they throw you off Old Man's Singer and you're out in the death cold of the ocean."  
  
"Just like Bert...on'y Bert was too big for 'is casket...'member what dey did to 'im, Mort?"  
  
Mort winced and shuddered as though he remembered only too well what had happened to Bert that day and was trying desperately to wipe the thought from memory. "Sliced off his legs and stuck them in his mouth...the bloody tyrants!"  
  
"Shh now, don' want dem to hear yeh speakin' like that...'member last time yeh spoke like dat."  
  
"I dare them to use Crucio on me again...I'll knock their bloody lights out!"  
  
Harry sat in disbelief, his hands clenched painfully around the steel bars of the prison cell. He was alone, left stranded in some prison to rot and perhaps die...and they'd known about it all along. They'd planned his demise and they'd planned it so effectively...playing on Harry Potter's willingness to follow directions. They'd done him in and now here he was in a prison cell, half-starved and fully beaten. And he'd been such a good boy this time. 


End file.
